Titanic AU: Johnlock - Is this what it's like to care?
by freddiethekoala
Summary: John Watson is an American man who has won tickets to the Titanic in a poker game with his sister, Harry Watson, and are excited for a new life outside of their miserable old one. Sherlock Holmes is a gentleman of England who is forcibly getting married to a rich man by the name of James Moriarty, due to his family slowly losing money and being desperate for wealth. The two's...
1. Going Home

**_SUMMARY (CONTINUED): The two's worlds collide in a story of adventure, friendship, betrayal, romance, and cognizance. _**

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Wow! I can't believe I actually started writing this. But here I am. My inspiration is my friend, Katie, showing me this Destiel Titanic AU (which I have yet to finish) (the link is s/7780210/1/Titanic-Destiel-Style). Other inspiration is from when the John Watson I RP with (Ami) told me that on her Johnlock playlist, she has My Heart Will Go On. So, why not and make an AU, am I right? This is probably my first AU I've ever written. I hope you like it! Also, I mostly winged this stuff and I'm American so I don't even understand the currency when using pounds and stuff so I AM SORRY. WHY ARE YOU STILL READING THIS? READ THE STORY._

_Also also: pairings will include Male/Male, Female/Female, Female/Male. I do not own Titanic or anything Sherlock Holmes related (obviously), so if I take them right out of the original story, I don't intend to be all "HAHA THIS IS MINE"_

* * *

The year was 1912. The latest talk between all the locals was the discussion of the unsinkable ship called the Titanic. It was mentioned in the papers, it was the latest gossip of the cities all around the world, and only the richest of the rich could take a ride on the glorious ship. Not far from the boarding place to get on the Titanic was a bar. And in this bar, was a few men playing a competitive game of poker.

One of the men said something in German to his companion, and both of them looked their cards over, making sure to keep blank faces. When they spoke in their native tongue, their words sounded angry which was also included with a slight wrinkle of their foreheads. But hell, weren't most Germans like that? John Watson hadn't met too many of them in his lifetime, but he could easily tell that these two were discussing something of importance. As the two male Germans came to a conclusion, the American man bet all the money he had left to a total of five pounds. John's older sister looked over to him, unbuttoning the top button of her dress shirt with worry. She whispered to him, adjusting her paperboy hat. The "in-disguise" female had a habit with fidgeting when she was concerned in a situation. "_John_, that's the_ rest of our money_, other than that extra amount of shillings for emergencies."

"No, Harriet, it's the rest of_ my_ money. I shall use it on whatever I please. Besides, when I have nothin', there's nothing left to lose." John replied in return to the female, bringing his cigarette to his partially chapped lips. Their parents had died long ago and no other family seemed to care for them. The siblings were forced to live on their own at the age of 15, which wasn't too bad if you didn't mind shared homes with other homeless teenagers and adults that treated you like servants. John freely let the smoke in the atmosphere of the bar, which smelled of tobacco and cheap alcohol.

The German man, Sven, had bet his and his friend's third class tickets for the luxurious Titanic. Olaf, the other German man had unlucky cards. Harry, John's sister, had nothing that great as well. Sven had two pair. John sighed, looking at the cards that the German fellow had set down. The American with tired eyes looked over to his sister with false disappointment in his eyes.

"I'm sorry. It's a shame, Harriet. You'll have to leave ol' Claire behind," John commented with the biggest grin that soon occupied his face. She stared with wide eyes, not sure how to take the information. John proudly hit down a full house, excited laughter filling his voice. He had won the game of poker. Harriet grinned widely, too, practically dancing along with John as he shouted, "_We are going to America!_"

The Germans were stunned. And John? John was going home.


	2. Prison

In a car, not far from the saloon that held the American John Watson and his burly sister, Harry Watson, held a high-class gentleman by the name of Sherlock Holmes. Mr. Holmes was once a wealthy man until his family's funds slowly became more and more less from his father's side not contributing any more money. The Holmes were known as a rich family in England and they had practically depended their life on this pointless title. Sherlock Holmes was to be married to a man by the name of James Moriarty. James Moriarty was much more older than Sherlock, had large amounts of cash, and was fairly handsome for his age. Sherlock did not love James Moriarty, and he never planned to. He'd much rather die than marry Moriarty, or perhaps, kill Moriarty. Unfortunately, the dark-haired genius would easily be suspected. Even if Sherlock's mother didn't notice, as well as his fiancé, he hated the man with a passion.

The Holmes family normally wore the finest attire that money could buy. Sherlock's mother, Mrs. Holmes (widowed), wore fine silk and cotton. She was regularly complimented for the things she wore, especially her expensive and vintage jewelry that was passed down to her for generations upon generations. She wore fancy hats that were decorated with either magnificent stitching or a single feather. Sherlock, on the other hand, wore a slimming suit with a dark purple dress shirt, and normally had a dark blue scarf with him. For warmth, he wore a high-quality trench coat that he had owned for quite some time. Moriarty had tried multiple times to rid Sherlock of his trench coat and dark blue scarf, but he would only respond with the silent treatment, which James absolutely hated. Sherlock didn't like to have his clothing to be the most best thing around, which was why he almost always covered up his expensive suit with a dark, long coat. To his misfortune, he was unable to wear it, due to the warm day in April. Just another reason to hate his fate. As for what Mycroft wears, no one really cares. We all know that the reader will probably just think of their regular outfits.

Moriarty would always wear a light-colored suit that showed off light colors of grey or pinstripe. He had the classic white dress shirt and black or striped tie, with the occasional bow tie for special events. James also carried a cane around and sometimes wore hats that flattered his facial structure. His eyes were an incredibly dark brown, and the way he made eye contact with people and the way he used his words could easily manipulate someone with an ordinary mind. Sherlock wish that he wouldn't do this, for his own mother was pity in Moriarty's hands. Sherlock's brother, Mycroft, could see it, too. The two had attempted to budge their mother with no avail. Mycroft was a fairly clever man and a somewhat loyal brother, and he was accompanying them all on the trip.

"I don't see what the big deal is," the young gentleman commented to his fiancé, eyeing the sight of the ship as he exited the car. He wasn't one to easily be impressed, and he could easily deduct that the talk of such an "unsinkable ship" would be the fattest lie he had ever heard yet. If Sherlock Holmes were to die, he would not mind. He had nothing to look forward to. He was practically destined to become a pointless housewife of James Moriarty, and take it up the ass for the rest of his life due to lack of money. God, why didn't just fling himself off the ship and get it over with? Or, he could always take James's gun and shoot his own brains out. Acts of suicide was much more preferred than eternity with this arrogant and slimy nutcase.

But Sherlock Holmes kept himself well-preserved in a dignified manner and kept his head up high, showing to all he had no faults in his features or how he was presented. Inside, he was aching for it all to end. Anything but this type of life. Anything to get away from the prison that was Titanic, bringing him back to the dreaded America.


	3. Bon Voyage

_Author's Note: Gosh. I feel like I was going to say something of importance. WELP. I'll remember sooner or later. Also, thank you for the private and public reviews! You're all so sweet~_

* * *

John planned to never see those men ever again! Olaf with his oily hair and long face, Sven with his round face and boy-like features. _The looks on their faces, though!_ He was sure to remember those.

Harriet, with trembling fingers, collected the money they won with pure joy. They were finally going to go home. And she knew that family there would take them in, even though they were close to dirt poor. She hadn't seen any of their ol' cousins in years, or their aunts and uncles. She could see it now, John and her grabbin' a job near where they'd be staying and finding a couple of proper dames to settle down with. The siblings promised to name their first kid after each other. Even though the two constantly argued and teased each other, it was a small pact they had made. The bartender looked at the two orphans, smirking to himself. His voice didn't have such a thick accent as the German blokes did, it was more of a light, old Englishman's voice, filled with amusement. "Titanic leaves in 5 minutes. Better hurry if you wanna get to America."

John's smile faded somewhat and his eyes widened. "Let's go, Harry, let's go!" he exclaimed expeditiously, running out the door with his bag. Harriet followed close behind, tipping her hat at the gentlemen in the bar. The German man, Olaf, was hitting his friend, swinging multiple punches for the man being so stupid enough to bet something with large value.

"We're practically royalty, Harriet! Bloody _royalty!_ If only Mum and Dad knew, Harry, oh my! We're at the high class now!" John shouted as the two ran through the crowds that stood outside of Titanic. His smiled never ceased to fade as they rushed, apologizing whenever he rudely bumped into someone. People of all sorts stood outside of the ship. Family members, friends, co-workers, all ready to wave goodbye to their loved ones on the indestructible ship. But little did they know, a couple of ordinary foster children were off to living in extreme luxury.

"We're gonna be millionaires, mate!" His sister said in return, unable to stop the smile that occupied her lips. She had heard many stories about America and how once you'd arrive, fame was in reaching distance. It was but a myth, but she liked the thought. Harriet could practically taste the American soil already. They ran and ran, until their hearts raced at practically full speed. John felt as though his young heart was just about to burst as they finally reached the ramp that lead into the enormous ship. Those Germans at the bar were such suckers! John and Harriet were about to have the most fantastic trip of their lives!

x

Sherlock walked around his suite's living room, eyeing the blankness that filled the walls. If only he was allowed to add bullet holes. Or anything at all. _Maybe decorate the walls with Moriarty's insides_, Sherlock joked mentally, a glimpse of a smile appearing on his face. Happiness was always a rare phenomenon with Sherlock Holmes. The man had paintings instead, though, which would suffice his need for small rebellion towards his fiancé, as well as for decoration in the room. Anything to get rid of this plain wall that reminded him of how plain his life had become. Moriarty's money wasn't even really for him, it was mostly for his mother's expensive tastes. He wished that he was back at the hospital, studying about the various tobacco ash and different types of dirt all around England. Sherlock looked up at the eerie painting that one of the worker's had put up for him onto the wall, which was painted by a man by the name of Picasso. The paintings intrigued him, and would get the dark-haired genius thinking, much like how playing the violin did. Moriarty would only describe the pieces of art as childish, unnecessary, and petty. Words like these only made Sherlock want to urge his fiancé's 'accidental' death.

And he had called the works of art "finger-paintings"? The distinct difference between the two men was that Sherlock Holmes had taste and James Moriarty did not. His fiancé's voice was much like nails on a chalkboard, in Sherlock's opinion, that was continuous and very much conceited. He wondered what it would be like, being James Moriarty, and knowing that the one he slept by every night felt no positive emotions toward himself. Sherlock wondered how James would feel if he knew the man he slept beside also had sadistic thoughts about killing him. No matter, like mentioned before, it wasn't like Sherlock could do anything. James was a well-known man and had a sort of... bodyguard around wherever he went to watch over the family. He wanted anything to escape from this life he was living. Sherlock Holmes was, to put it simply, James Moriarty's bitch.

And it was going to be like that for the end of his days. The thought made him want to vomit.

x

John Watson and Harry Watson soon got on the ship with an enthusiastic leap. They slipped through the crowds in the hallways, making loud and happy conversation as they walked down the corridors to reach the dock. "We're the luckiest bastards on the face of the earth, you know that, John?" Harriet commented to her younger brother, holding her bag at a different angle so that it'd be easier to carry. The dirt-blond male nodded in return, bringing his hands to the railings and his feet to the more bottom railings (to stand on) and waving goodbye to anyone who would notice. "Do we even know anyone out there?" Harry asked, standing on the rail with him.

"No," he answered honestly, making a grin of youth that showed off his teeth. "But that's not the point, sis!" John continued to shout his goodbyes to England, waving frantically. One hand in the air, the other on the rail. Harriet hollered some goodbyes too. To England, to Claire, to her favorite restaurant at the corner of the nearest town.

"Adieu!" John would yell, looking at the many faces in the groups upon groups of people. "Arrivederci! _Adios!_"

"I'll never forget you!" Harry yelled also, feeling chills go through her body.


End file.
